Prophet of Doom by Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir

Author:Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir [Murphy, Warren & Sapir, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, sf_detective, Men's Adventure, Remo (Fictitious character), Chiun (Fictitious character), Adventure stories, Chiun (Fictitious character) - Fiction, Remo (Fictitious character) - Fiction
ISBN: 9780373632268
Publisher: Harlequin Books
Published: 1998-03-15T16:35:47+00:00

understood. Then they could have shaken the dust of this barbarian nation from their sandals, and gone off to ply their trade in other, more fortunate lands.

But the curse of Tang prevented all of that. The inevitability of what had been foretold, at a time when this so-called Western civilization was in its infancy, had overtaken all.

East had met West.

And another, darker part of his soul knew that if Remo had now become as he suspected him to be, then the Master of Sinanju could not allow his adopted son to live. It was, above all, this knowledge that weighed so heavily on Chiun's frail shoulders.

A shallow copper bowl of incense sat on the floor before him, and when the Master of Sinanju heard the unmistakable sound of Remo's feet gliding up the hallway, he spun a long taper between his fingers and touched the burning wick to the incense. The contents of the bowl flashed to life.

Chiun pressed his fingers together at the taper's tip, extinguishing the yellowish flame. Thus prepared, he stared stonily at the heavy metal door. And waited. For all had been foretold.

Remo tapped lightly.

"Little Father?" he called softly.

"Come in, my son," Chiun said, voice as thin as a reed.

Remo pushed the door into the room. The flickering candlelight on his bony face gave him the gaunt aspect of a houseless specter.

Chiun beckoned with a skeletal finger. "Seat yourself before me, my son."

A second mat had been spread out on the carpet

261

before the Master of Sinanju. Remo sank weightlessly to the floor.

Remo raised his nose at the smell of the incense. "Sheesh, what are you doing—burning alley cats?"

Chiun ignored the remark. "You are not well," he observed.

Remo gave a halfhearted shrug. "I've been better," he admitted.

Chiun nodded in understanding and stared at the incandescent center of the incense pot. "The sulphur smell is quite strong," he said.

A great sadness clung to his teacher, and it deepened Remo's anguish to know that it was he who had placed this burden upon Chiun's thin shoulders.

A silence existed between them for a time. Neither man spoke. Finally Remo cleared his throat.

"What is happening to me, Little Father?" he asked quietly.

"What do you feel, my son?" Chiun countered.

"There's something inside me. Inside my brain," Remo said with difficulty. "It feels like it's taking over my mind. Every time it forces its will upon me, it gets stronger." He rotated his thick wrists in ab-sentminded agitation. "Chiun, I don't know if I can keep fighting it off."

Eyes slitting, Chiun nodded. "The prophecy is fulfilled," he intoned. His voice was hollow and distant.

"The legend of Master Tang?"

Chiun looked up from the incense bowl. "It grieves me, Remo, that I did not sooner impart this tale to you." His mouth grew grim. "But we who are one with Sinanju understand that it is not possible to avoid destiny."

262

"Tell me about Tang," said Remo. It was the first time in his life he could remember asking to be told a Sinanju legend.

Chiun stroked his wispy beard.

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